


Liminal

by viewingcutscene



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Female Friendship, Finish the Song, Friendship/Love, Gen, Spoilers, el valero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viewingcutscene/pseuds/viewingcutscene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the space between crises, Tulip and Emily forge a common bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the car that decided her.  The distinctive burgundy car was parked on the street outside of Walter’s house, so Emily pulled up behind and got out of the van before she could think on what she was doing.  She hesitated for a moment, hand raised to knock, but Tulip opened the door before she could figure out whether she meant to shit or get off the pot.

“Come in, then,” she said, and left Emily standing at the door. “It’s kind of a mess in here, so we can sit outside.” Walter was snoring on the couch, an afghan tucked up to his chin.  A half-empty bag of Alpo slumped in the corner by the kitchen.  “Do you want some lemonade?”

“Sure,” Emily said.  “Did you get a dog?”

“No.”

***

It was hot for nine A.M., but the lemonade was cold and tart.  The grass was patchy and brown from the sun, and scattered with holes.  Tulip lifted her chin at these, as if daring Emily to make something of it, but there was nothing to say.  The lawn chairs sagged just the right amount, and Emily sighed as she sat, not looking forward to a long day at work.

“How’s your girl?” Tulip asked.

“Hm? Oh, she’s fine.  Back at school, right as rain.”  Tommy, on the other hand, was shitting his brains out, but Miles had sheepishly agreed to watch him today for her.  “It’s the least I can do,” he’d said at the door, which she thought was a strange way of putting it, but she was still mad at him, so she’d just left without saying anything.

“I’m surprised you’re home,” Emily said.  “After what happened at the church yesterday?”

Tulip put her glass down, prepared for bad news. “What did Jesse do?”

“Arrested.  Quincannon’s men tried to take the church – or Quincannon owns the church land, now? It’s not very clear, really.  But they got it, eventually, and Sherriff Root took Jesse away.  He… um, he shot off a guy’s penis.”

Tulip snorted, a frown line creasing the smooth skin between her brows. “He would.  Who was it?”

“Medium height guy, little chunky around the middle, patchy-lookin’ beard…?”

Tulip howled. “Fuck me, he shot Clive’s dick off?” She clutched her stomach, and laughed till tears came to her eyes.  Finally, Tulip took a drink, still snorting.  “Doesn’t mean I forgive him, but still… shot off Clive’s dick.  Bail should be free, doing a public service like that.”

“I didn’t bail him out,” Emily said softly, watching the ice melt in her glass.  “There’s more.”

Tulip sobered immediately, and put her drink down.  She put a hand on Emily’s arm.  “Tell me,” she said, low, urgent.

“I think… I think Jesse might have killed Eugene Root.”

Emily held her breath, waiting for the explosion.  She didn’t know what was between Tulip and Jesse but it was powerful, volatile and dangerous like a downed power line.  She thought she’d wanted to know, put her Christian values to good use, learn the worst and forgive it in others, but now… now Emily wasn’t so sure.  She saw Tulip’s eyes flick back and forth, processing and discarding replies like poker cards.  The hand on her arm squeezed gently, and fell away.

“Yeah.  Yeah, he might’ve.”

“Why would he _do_ that?” Emily burst out.  “What did Eugene ever do to him?  I know – we all know what happened – but that was years ago. Why _now_?”

“I don’t know,” Tulip said. “Something’s not right, way he’s been treatin’ folks.  Treatin’ everyone around him like they were just actors in the Jesse Custer stage show of the century.” She looked at Emily. “I’m sorry for what happened the other night – he didn’t say anything awful to you, I hope?”

Emily laughed once, tart, like lemons. “No, nothing compared to what he said to you. Or to Cassidy, to make him leave.  I don’t know where he went that night. He wasn’t with Jesse in the church yesterday, and you know Cassidy would’ve been dying to get a piece of that action.”

Tulip’s face was utterly blank, and Emily thought maybe she was trying not to laugh. “Oh, um, not like that. Not …sexually. Like… Cassidy likes a fight, I think.  He would’ve been there, if Jesse hadn’t scared him off.”

“Yeah,” Tulip said in a strangled voice. “Jesse must’ve done something pretty awful to scare away Cassidy.” Her fingers clutched the arm of the chair.

Burnt grass rustled in the hot wind, stirred the loose hairs around Emily’s temples. Sweat trickled down her sternum into her bra.  The silence was buoyed up by neighbourhood noises – cars going past out front, birds calling to one another from the trees, the soft hiss of someone nearby watering their garden – but it held something else, a small worn place that Emily rested comfortably in, like a sagging patio chair. She realized Tulip was in the space, too.  It’d been so long since Emily had a friend that she didn’t quite recognize it when it came.  But this wasn’t smiling and shaking hands with people at the church, and it wasn’t putting up with Miles’ lukewarm missionary fumblings in exchange for free childcare, or even pouring all her faith into a void with nice brown eyes that saw everything but what was right in front of them.  It was just… acceptance.  Rough edges and all.

“Thank you,” Emily said. “For the lemonade. And for fixing Alice’s sculpture.  For helpin’ out the other day. It meant a lot –“ _to Jesse,_ the nasty little voice in her head said, and she spoke louder to drown it out. “-to me.” She stood and dusted off her Dockers.

Tulip lifted her glass in an ironic little _cheers_ gesture.  “That’s me, always helping.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help out,” Emily said, refusing to look at the house and imply anything about Walter, “Anything at all? Just call.  You still have my number, right?”

“I got it,” Tulip mumbled. “I’ll call if I need anything.”

***

Emily wasn’t waiting by the phone for Tulip’s call.  She wasn’t.  If the phone happened to be off the cradle on the couch next to her while watching Netflix, that was just being prepared, right?

So when the phone rang at 3AM while she dozed to the sound of _Big Brother_ , she was ready.


	2. Chapter 2

Emily lay back on a pile of throw cushions, a cold beer pressed to her temple, awake at ass o’clock for the second night in a row. Biscuit whistled in her ear as he slept on her shoulder; Latte was dreamily exploring the range of her torso.

Of course she went back for them. How could she not?  She’d gathered her children up from school like a mother hen herding her chicks under protective wing, and realized that some things just need to be cared for.  Her heart beat light and fast as she parked the car around the corner from Walter’s, and bade the children to wait for her.  Absorbed in the new iPad Miles bought to replace the shattered one, Alice and Tommy barely noticed her go, and Elliot only nodded without taking out his earphones. But when Emily returned with the guinea pigs in their bitty cage, she had their full attention.

“Whoa, neat!” said Tommy.

Alice stroked the whorls of Latte’s fur through the bars.  “They’re so cute.”  Even Elliot leaned forward to look at them.

“You guys wanna go to the pet store and pick out a bigger cage and some supplies?” Emily asked, bowled over by the force of affirmations she got in reply. So that’s what they did – went out (not to Pet Express, naturally), and had a hell of a time together weighing the pros and cons of a plastic maze versus a hamster ball for guinea pig cardio.  Emily found it strangely endearing to learn they could be litter trained, like cats.

After the day’s excitement, all the kids conked out without a fuss at bedtime.  Emily was the only one still buzzing, alive, awake, and more and more likely to remain that way. Between the clothes, the pet supplies and the half-eaten dinner, the house was a disaster area, but she didn’t give a damn anymore.  She had her kids, her health and her freedom.  Fuck Miles, and fuck Jesse Custer too, she thought, toasting herself.

Tulip came right into the house without knocking, quiet as a ghost.  Emily sat up suddenly, cupping a hand under Biscuit at the last minute to prevent him from catapulting across the couch. “You’re back from New Mexico,” she said.

Tulip dropped her purse and coat on the floor, and slumped onto the couch.  Her face was drawn, and a cut crusted one corner of her mouth.  “Yeah,” she replied, head lolling back.

“Did you kill your guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I killed Miles,” Emily said.

Tulip’s eyes snapped open, and Emily’s heart sped up.  This woman had just, by her own admission, killed a man with her own hands.  “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“No!”

“Because I’m gonna be straight with you, Emily, I’m kinda impressed.”

“Oh,” said Emily.  “I see. Well, then.” She gave Biscuit a final pat on the butt and set him down on the carpet. “I fed him to Cassidy.”

“I figured you must have done somethin’, with the room all emptied out and the backyard full of cages.”  Tulip curled up against the arm rest, knees drawn in, facing Emily.  She took the beer out of its resting place tucked between two cushions, and drank. “Thanks for not letting him kill my uncle.”

Emily gasped, her face a picture in affronted honour. “I would never.  Walter is a… is a teammate!”

“A teammate,” Tulip said.  “A Flavour Station teammate.”  Emily threw a pillow at her, but Tulip ducked it, letting the cushion sail past her ear.  The thump of it hitting the floor caused a minor pig stampede with frightened squawking.

“Whoops.”

“Anyway, I thought Miles was your boyfriend.”

Emily waved a hand, trying to find the right words.  How do you justify killing a man? “He was kind of a dick? He just kept pushing me and pushing me, make it official, tell everyone we’re dating, tell preacher Custer, tell you kids. Like, god, Miles, could you stop for just _one_ minute?  But he never did, just push, push, push. Plus, he was a _terrible_ lay.”

“You’re kidding,” Tulip said. “As fascinating as that is, what happened to Cassidy? I thought you didn’t even like him.”

“Oh, Cassidy.  He’s crude, and childish, and he, like, drinks blood for a living but it’s not his fault, right? He can’t help bein’ who he is.”

“We are who we are.” Tulip smiled, a small, crooked thing. 

“He pushed my buttons, but at least he never pushed my boundaries. Anyway, Jesse came by, took over from there.  I’m guessing they’re out living it up on the run from the law.  Maybe we should join them? Seein’ as how we’re all killers now, and such.”  Though… was she? Deep in her heart, Emily knew she was responsible for Miles’ death, even if she didn’t tear out his throat herself.  But no one would know any different – maybe not even Cassidy, crazed as he was with hunger. The only one who could definitively implicate her in the crime was dead.  Thank _god._

“Yeah, I wouldn’t go advertising that around or anything,” Tulip said.  She put the empty beer bottle down, and sighed, closing her eyes.

“Want another?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Emily listened to her heartbeat fall into time with the mantel clock – tick tick tick – while one of her kids let out a muffled fart down the hall.  The pigs whistled sleepily, burying themselves in cedar shavings for the night.  She felt free, like a boat turning away from the rocky shore toward the open ocean, but something dragged at her, the last clinging remnants of seaweed.

“Did killing your guy make it better, Tulip?” she asked.  The other woman took so long to answer, Emily feared she’d offended or – god forbid – hurt her feelings.

“Not really, no,” Tulip said softly.

Emily crept one hand around Tulip’s shoulder, touching where the tan line bisected her left arm, darkened to a deeper brown by the sun as she drove to New Mexico and back again.  Tulip’s skin was warm, almost fevered, and she reached across to clasp Emily’s strong, cool fingers in her own. “Me neither,” she said.

Tulip rested her curly head atop Emily’s, and they sat together till the grey dawn began to streak the sky, holding a silent wake for the men they’d murdered. For her own part, Emily didn’t regret what she had done to Miles.  She followed the chain of thought into the deep water beneath her freedom and realized her regret lay only in that she hadn’t been able to toss Odin Quincannon in there after him. 

Just before the alarm in Emily’s bedroom went off, Tulip spoke once more, so quietly Emily wasn’t sure she’d said anything at all.

“I miss my daughter.”


End file.
